


Reticulated Hearts

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, Initially Dorian/Blackwall, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 17:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: Slowly but surely, Thom Blackwall and Dorian fall for The Iron Bull.





	Reticulated Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the most patient person ever, Aquaticpopsicle, who deserves sainthood. This has been in the works since March of last year, and they have been nothing but patient. Thank you so much for making this fic happen. 
> 
> This fic is a direct sequel to "On the Banks of Lake Luthias". It likely won't make sense without having read that first.

Thom goes from the comfortable warmth of the Hinterlands to the frigid snow of Haven and despairs for his nice warm bed and soothing sunshine.

“I think it's charming,” Dorian says, because of course he does. They survey their new accommodations, just off of the blacksmith's forge. People have been giving the pair of them plenty of odd looks, which Dorian has ignored and Thom has grimaced at but not done anything about. It's a small room, but the bed is big enough for two and there's a fireplace with wood beside it and a table, so it'll do well enough.

“At least it's warm,” Thom says with a sigh. Dorian hums his agreement, leaning his staff against the wall and tossing his bag along with Thom's onto the bed. “What d'you think, should we go find the tavern?”

“Oh, let's,” Dorian says, adjusting his coat so the buckles are all in their proper places. “I haven't had a drink in near a month and I'm dying for shitty Ferelden ale.”

Thom snorts, wrapping an easy arm around Dorian's waist as they leave their new little room. The wind is biting but not cruel in its sharpness; it's a bearable cold. People in haphazard uniforms trot past towards the training area, the Seeker sparring against a dummy while the blond that Meershaum called “Cullen” barks at the soldiers. A bulky Qunari with wide horns watches from against the wall, and grins at them as they pass. A Tevene man rolls his eyes at this, looking like he's not paid enough to put up with his boss. Thom can relate. They walk up through the gates, pass Varric who's chatting with Meershaum, and after a bit of aimless ambling find themselves in the tavern.

“I assume I'm paying for you,” Thom says. Dorian bats his eyelashes, grinning wickedly.

“Since I have little in the way of decolletage to attract the barkeeps attention, I suppose so. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you later.” 

“Flirt,” Thom says, with no heat, and squeezes his side in a half hug. “Get a seat, I'll grab us food and some ale.”

“Thank you,” Dorian sings, and slips away from him. Thom can't quite help smiling.

There's no real way to tell if this will last or not, he knows. Dorian may have some terrible dark secret, and his own might get out as well. But for now, he'll enjoy the company of a charming young man with an easy smile and clever hands. The barmaid flirts with him, he takes their plates and ale, and finds that Dorian's situated them in a corner that allows for a view of most of the room. The meat and potatoes are thick and heavy, practically falling apart they're so tender, and spiced with black pepper and salt. It's plain food, but it does the job, and while Dorian laments about the lack of hot spices in the South he finishes every last morsel on his plate.

Meershuam ducks into the tavern, striding up to a blonde elf who's been lounging in the corner and flopping down. They're a funny pair together, and Thom hides his grin at how obviously the elf is looking their Lady Herald over.

“So,” Dorian says, as they both nurse their ale. “What's the plan?”

“Hmm?”

He waves a hand, indicating the general Haven area. “For being here. Who do you want to be? We have an opportunity to start fresh, both of us. I won't pretend that I know what drove you out to the middle of ass-fuck no-where Ferelden, but I doubt it was anything good.”

Dorian's eyes are intent and gleam in the firelight, but for as sharp as they are they have a sort of softness to them. A lack of judgment.

“Blackwall,” he says, after a moment. “Thom Blackwall. I think that'd... yeah. Thom Blackwall.”

“Blackwall,” Dorian says, tasting it on his tongue and rolling it around in his mouth. Thom likes how he says it, careful and intent. “I like that.”

“Good.” Thom takes another drink, Dorian mimicking him, and he meets his eyes with heavy lids and a slight smile. He looks loose-limbed and a little dangerous, sprawling back against the wall. Thom's mouth suddenly feels somehow dry, despite the ale, and he finishes it a little faster than intended. He sets it aside, keeping eye contact with Dorian, who gets a self-satisfied little smile on his face, and who hooks a leg around his under the table.

“Brat,” he says without heat, and Dorian's grin gets bright and charming.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Thom snorts, standing up. “If only it was just then.”

Dorian puts a hand to his heart, as if wounded, and Thom chuckles as he gathers their dishes and takes them back to the barmaid. When he gets back, Dorian's stood and has an easy grin on his face. It's a little strained, but eases as Thom approaches. He all but attaches himself to Thom's side as they leave, and Thom wraps an arm around his waist again.

“Something wrong?” he asks, quiet. Dorian curls into his arm, huffing.

“Just some dirty looks from other patrons,” he says, keeping his voice light. Thom hears the faint undercurrent of tension. “I'm from Tevinter, it's to be expected, but still.”

“Well, if anyone decides to be difficult about it, tell me.” Thom squeezes him gently. “We'll deal with it together.”

“Sap.”

“Mm, true.”

Dorian smiles, tucking his head against Thom's shoulder, and they head back to their room.

The next morning, Dorian's out the door early to go talk to Meershaum about this and that to do with something magic related, and Thom gets dressed and heads over to the forge. The place is in full swing when he steps around the low wall, apprentices and other craftsmen running around doing everything at once.

“There you are,” the smith says, hefting a beast of a hammer over his shoulder. “Blackwall, yeah?”

“Thom Blackwall,” Thom says, shaking his hand. “A pleasure.”

“That remains to be seen,” the smith says tartly, and Thom grins. He likes plain speaking men. “We need camp chairs made, I have the schematics over there. Get to it, my lad.”

And so Thom does. The chairs aren't complicated, and once he's made the first the rest go faster. He has the whole order completed by sunset and piled to go to wherever they're needed. The smith, whose name he learns is Harrit, nods in approval. And that's the end of that.

His days become filled with carpentry. There's never a shortage of training swords to be made, or houses that need repairs. He learns more skills on the fly, picking them up from other refugee carpenters and the Charger called Grim. He builds trebuchets and chairs alike, fixes desks and makes chess pieces for people to while away the time. All told, it's good, clean work. Dorian works where he can with Leliana's crew, holed up for hours at a time with her spies as he explains the fortifications of Redcliffe and Alexius' movements within the castle.

He also spends several hours hassling The Iron Bull.

Their resident Qunari is large, loud, and cheerful. He runs a tight crew, sleeps with anyone who's interested, has a big smile, and seems to delight in hassling Dorian right back.

It is, admittedly, very funny.

Thom drinks from his canteen as he watches Dorian snipe at Bull and the Bull laugh it off, shaking his head at the two. They're clearly having fun, Dorian bristling like an annoyed little cat and Bull relaxed as ever. Harrit walks up, raising an eyebrow at the pair.

“What's going on with that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Thom says, smiling wryly. Bull says something that makes Dorian squawk in indignation and Krem's shoulders shake with laughter. “But they're having fun.”

Dorian stamps his foot like a child, and Bull bursts out laughing as Dorian sticks up his nose and stalks to the smithy.

“I require ego stroking,” Dorian tells him with every well bred ounce of him quivering in annoyance. Thom gives him a long once over and Dorian flusters, cheeks just barely darkening with what must be a blush. “Kaffas, Thom.”

Thom sets his canteen on the table and walks around the low wall to tug Dorian in against him and kiss him. Dorian makes a tiny noise of surprise before melting into it, and when he pulls back Thom grins.

“You and Bull done pulling at each others pigtails for the day?” he asks, and Dorian scowls at him.

“He's a brute, and so are you, you terrible man.”

“And yet I still find you in my bed each morning.”

Dorian makes a face at him and Thom laughs, pulling him away to their room for a much needed rest.

oOo

Meershaum takes Dorian with her to the meeting with Alexius, as Thom knew she would. It hurts more than he expected to watch as Dorian rides away with Bull and Cassandra, but he pushes it down at gets to work on building simple furniture, knocking out camp chairs and collapsible tables with others of the camp. The days go slowly, the nights cold and made colder without Dorian to turn to in the darkness. He makes acquaintances despite his best efforts, works himself to the bone, and when the horn call goes up to announce the Herald's return he all but launches himself from the Chantry where he's been working on benches to run to the road.

Meershaum and Dorian both look worse for the wear, Dorian's eyes haunted and Meershaum bearing a cut on her jaw. Dorian scrambles off his horse to run to Blackwall and clutch him tight, burying his face against his shoulder.

“It was bad, I take it,” Thom says quietly, and Dorian shudders, holding him tighter.

“I'll tell you later.”

Thom wraps him up in his arms and holds him tight, cradling the back of his head to reassure him. They stay that way for a long time, until Dorian pulls back and they go for dinner. He eats like a starving man, but won't touch any meat. Thom finishes it for him, watching how Dorian's hands tremble as he looks at his ale. He distracts him by showing him the repaired pews, their improved bedframe, other things he's done while Dorian's been gone. He grounds him back in reality. Slowly, the tension in his face fades.

When they pass The Iron Bull, Dorian stops to make idle chit chat. Thom chimes in, not certain why Dorian's eyes keep roving over Bull's face. It's as if he's searching for something that he can't find there, but whatever it is, it reassures him.

That night, Dorian tells him about a potential future. He talks until his voice is hoarse of blood magic circles carved into the floor, of the green lights of the sky, of demons and a haggard Leliana. He talks about Bull, red light curling from his eye, and Cassandra with a voice warped from tainted lyrium. He tells Thom about watching Leliana kill his best- his only friend. How there was only a ghoul there, a husk of what had once been human, haggard and confused and better off dead. His foster father, gone mad with grief.

Bull, Cassandra, and Leliana's bodies thrown back through the door after being killed. How they'd been clawed at and destroyed, sullied by demons. Bull's broken horns and missing arm, Leliana's head at an unnatural angle and lost legs. Cassandra's face, clawed to shreds.

He tells it all, and when his voice finally fails Thom holds him to his chest and lets him cry it all out. The future-that-won't-be plays through his head in half-imagined horror, and while Dorian sleeps the sleep of the truly exhausted Thom isn't certain he closes his eyes the entire night.

Thom has never been so grateful to see the dawn.

oOo

When the battle of Haven comes, Dorian kisses him hard before running with Meershaum into the fray. He has the sweetness of pie on his lips still, the faintest hint of weak ale as well. Thom doesn't think. He just moves, and he finds himself on the front lines with a busted shield from Harrit's workshop and a sword he picks up off a dead Templar. He fights and fights, going two handed when the shield shatters on his arm. He takes down monster after monster after monster, and still they keep coming in wave upon wave. Bull and the Chargers smash into a wall of monsters, Bull stepping up to shield him enough to get his breath back. He picks off those he can, switches out one sword for a bigger one. He passes Meershaum roaring a battle cry, grabs Sera on the way to the Chantry, and can barely breathe when they finally stop for a rest.

All of his things are gone, now, but he's not dead yet.

Dorian bursts through the Chantry doors with Meershaum, Cassandra, and Varric behind him. He's got a pack on his back, another in his hand, and a long cut down his arm. Thom runs to him, taking the bag.

“Our things,” Dorian tells him as blood drips down his arm. “I packed earlier in case you wanted to leave. Good timing, isn't it?”

“You're an idiot,” Thom tells him, and kisses him hard. Dorian wraps his good arm around him and kisses him back, biting at his lip when they pull apart like he's something feral.

“I'm your idiot, though,” Dorian says, breathless, and then they run.

They flee up the mountain path hand in hand, hearts in their throats, and when Meershaum brings the mountain down the world seems to stop.

oOo

But the world doesn't stop.

Miracles happen, or coincidence happens, and Meershaum drags herself out of the hellhole that was once Haven spitting mad and half dead.

And then...

Skyhold looms out of the mountains like something out of a children's tale, massive and resolute on a pillar of stone. Meershaum, axe on her back and hand hissing green, is the first to walk across the enormous bridge with Solas into the castle. It's a monstrous thing, a work of incredible grace and power, and Thom's skin crawls with the weight of ages as they walk through the gate. That first night they barely manage to make tents. Everyone ends up collapsing wherever there's space on whatever they have available. Thom and Dorian sleep with the Chargers, sprawled in the puddle of them, and Thom wakes up with a crick in his neck but feeling very warm from all the bodies around him.

Bull is already up when he wakes, stirring a stew pot with a fire going under it as Meershaum holds council with Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, and Cullen in a corner. He extricates himself from under Dorian's arm, and joins Bull at the fire.

“Nug?” he asks, and Bull nods.

“Yup.”

“Maker, what I wouldn't give for some hen instead,” Thom groans, and Bull chuckles.

“I feel ya, big guy. Threw some greens in there for a bit more flavor but it's gonna be bland for a while.”

“Oh good, just what I love. Bland nug. It's my favorite.”

Bull laughs, patting the seat on a block of stone next to him, and Thom drops down on it. It's oddly warm within Skyhold's walls. Probably something to do with magic. The whole castle looks like it's just grown up out of the rock itself, it must be magic. No matter how rickety and crumbled, it has potential in spades.

“It's a good place,” Thom says, looking around at the keep and the walls. “Her bones are solid, even if the rest of her is a bit elderly. She'll be a fine home for us.”

“You'll have your hands full with work to do, that's for sure,” Bull says, nodding at the caved in roofs.

“There's never any shortage of work for carpenters,” Thom agrees. “There'll always be chairs that need fixing and cupboards that need hanging, or bookshelves to build and floorboards to lay. I think I'd be busy for the next century with as much work as this place needs, but there's some other carpenters in the refugees and Dennet's no slouch either.”

Bull nods, taking a drink of his stew and grimacing a little when the aftertaste hits him. “I saw his place out in the Hinterlands. Are all Ferelden houses round?”

“Not all of them,” Thom says, taking his own sip and wincing. “Mine wasn't. Round's a good shape for them, though, it gets windy in the canyons and in the mountainous parts and the shape keeps the worst of the wind from blowing the place to pieces. It's mostly tradition, I guess.”

“In Qunandar, they build houses like that in octagon sets, but on a much bigger scale. Like beehives. It's good for structural integrity.” Bull dishes him some of the stew and Thom takes it with a grimace and a nod.

“Huh. I hear there are pyramids there, too.”

“Yeah, big ones in the heart of the jungle,” Bull says, nodding. “Made out of stone. They're something else. Enormous old things, they just appear out of nowhere. Suddenly you're in the middle of a temple complex and you didn't even notice. It's different here, where you can see things in the distance mostly. Even in the woods, things are spaced apart.”

Thom nods, choking down a bit of the stew. It could be worse, but it's far from tasty. “I've heard jungles are very dense.”

“That's a good word for it.” Bull cocks his head, looking up at the walls. “I hope we stay here for a long time.”

“Oh?”

Bull nods, looking at one of the towers. “Yeah. It's a good location. No one's getting an army up this whole damn mountain without being seen.”

Haven sits heavy in their memories, and they eat the rest of their meal in silence. People join them as they wake.

The day breaks, and work begins. Everyone is busy, rushing around their new home.

There's a barn that's still standing, amazing enough, and a few of the mounts are given space there. It's a small thing, none too big, but it's enough for Meershaum's horse Beast, the Bog Unicorn, and a dracolisk that took a liking to Dorian (now named Princess. Thom despairs). There's a bit of kennel space for the mabari, plenty of room for hay, and enough space for him to work with wood and keep a store of it handy. Meershaum hands the building over to him and Dennet without complaint, and Dennet gives him the partially enclosed loft above it.

The loft turns into a proper room in not much time, Thom quickly enclosing it and hanging cloths over the walls to help keep out the drafts but leaving some false windows for the natural light to come through. Dorian charms the place against fire, they drag up a freshly made mattress in the Antivan style, wide and thick and called a “futon”. Pillows follow, along with some furs, and finally Thom makes a swinging door and hangs some lanterns to light the room.

It's done in a day, a whirlwind of work, and it's only when it's done that he feels doubt creep in.

“Should we ask for real rooms?” Thom asks quietly, looking over their space.

Dorian takes his hand, looking around the room. “No,” he says, his voice soft. “No, I like it here. I like...” He pauses, thinking. “I like the softness of it, here. The straw and the hay, the animals. I've slept in many barns during my travels and I've grown quite fond of it. You have the space below for woodworking, and it's away from people. A couple of trunks is enough for clothing, a stand for weapons... It's more than enough.”

Thom pulls him in, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and Dorian leans against him.

“If you decide at any time you don't want to...”

“I know.” Dorian kisses him, sighing into his lips as Thom's arm wraps around him. “I know.”

Thom sleeps well that night, the horses making soft noises below them, and Princess snoring in little whistles. Dorian is heavy against his side, soft skin with its mottled scarring familiar under his fingers. When he wakes the dawn light is peeking in to alert them. Dorian shifts slowly as the sun paints him into bronze and gold, the dark lashes on his cheeks fluttering slightly.

As silver eyes open to meet his, Thom's heart jerks in his chest.

“Morning,” he says, instead of the _I love you_ that's waiting on his tongue. “Sleep well?”

“Like a dream,” Dorian says, and yawns wide enough his jaw makes a cracking noise. “Mm. You're wonderfully warm.”

“I'm told it's this fur coat I'm wearing,” Thom teases, and Dorian huffs out a pleased little laugh before sliding up his chest to kiss him slow and easy.

“Must be that,” he murmurs, and Thom is utterly gone on him.

oOo

Thom spends his days busy with all sorts of work. He puts up framing for doors, slaps himself in a harness to work on roofs, builds block chairs and long trestle tables for the dining hall, refinishes the war room table, and does a thousand and one other things. Harrit churns out nails and bolts and yet more nails, working overtime in the yard and dragging some of the refugees and the soldiers into helping. Meershaum comes back with iron ore and lumber, and the nights grow late as they all work together to fix up the keep and the towers. A dwarf with knowledge of stone handles the walls and works to repair them as well, blocks are dragged from being in the way and shoved aside.

Dorian holes up in the library throughout the process, feverishly cataloging what remains in both the tiny hidden library covered in cobwebs in the basement and the large one in the rotunda. They meet up when they have time, stealing moments through the day to eat together or sit together, and in the evenings they come back to their little loft and all but collapse into the bed.

There's something very wholesome to it, a cleanliness that comes with a hard days work, and Thom throws himself into it with gusto.

Dorian comes back late one evening nearly a month into their new routine, and all but plows him over as he falls into Thom's arms.

“Hold me,” he complains, and Thom obliges with a smile.

“You look annoyed.”

“That's because I am, you great fuzzy beast.” It's said without rancor, and Thom holds down a laugh as Dorian burrows his face against his neck and hair with a groan.

“Dare I ask what's got you in such a tizzy?”

Dorian goes still in his arms, and Thom's amusement turns to concern. He rubs his- his something's back, trying to be reassuring, and after a long moment Dorian says, “Meershaum's invited me to become part of the Inner Circle properly. If I accept, I'll be going with her on missions, maybe for months at a time. She wants me to go with her to Crestwood next month.”

“Inner Circle,” Thom echoes, impressed. “That sounds big.”

“It _is_ big,” Dorian mumbles against his chest. “And I don't know if I like it. I don't... I don't want to risk losing you.”

“Are we going to have this talk now?” Thom asks, cautious, and Dorian huffs out a laugh.

“I suppose we are.”

They talk a walk, first, heading to the largely disused tower above them. They sit in one of the empty storage rooms, backs against the wall, and Thom fiddles with his hands.

“So,” he says, after a moment.

“So,” Dorian echoes, with a bit of a laugh. “What a pair we are.”

“What a pair indeed.” Thom takes a deep breath as Dorian pulls his knees to his chest and hugs them. “I don't think it'd hurt… us. Whatever this thing we've built is, I don't think we'll lose it if you go. I think it'd be good for you and for the world. You're a good man, with dreams and a drive and the determination to see things done. And I think that you'd be best serving the world out in it with Meershaum. You should go with her.”

“Do you want to fight as well?” Dorian asks, looking at him with somber eyes. “You know she'd take you in a heartbeat. I've seen how you handle yourself, you're far from a novice. It's the Champion style, isn't it? The one that you fight with?”

“Yes, my style is Champion,” Thom agrees, but sighs. “I don't... I don't want to be fighting, if I could be fixing. Not yet at least. Maybe someday in the future I'll change my mind and I'll join you out in the world, but for now my place is here repairing Skyhold.”

“Alright.” Dorian smiles and pulls him in for a kiss. Thom goes willingly, a smile on his lips.

Dorian stands first, and pulls him up after. Thom reels him in so they're pressed tight together, and Dorian grins at him.

“You'd better behave for Meershaum,” Thom says fondly, kissing his forehead. “Brat. You're such a terror.”

“Aren't I just?”

Thom laughs despite himself, and wraps an arm around Dorian's waist to walk with him down the stairs and back into the real world.

Dorian prepares to leave on the first day of the next month, bustling around their loft and fussing over his things several times over until Thom pins his arms down and drags him to bed. Dorian complains mightily right until his head hits the pillow, and then he's out like a light. Thom shakes his head, kisses his cheek, and goes to sleep as well.

He wakes up to Dorian kissing his forehead, and yawns wide.

“Ugh, morning breath,” Dorian mutters, smiling. He's dressed and pulling on his pack, his eyes soft and shining in the watery morning light. “I hope you miss me terribly.”

“As if I could do anything else,” Thom says, and climbs out of bed. His limbs ache as if he's been through battle, the morning air not kind to his joints. He pulls on trousers, boots, and a loose tunic, and follows Dorian down the stairs to where the horses are stabled. Cole sits awkwardly on the Bog Unicorn, Meershaum and the Iron Bull are saddling their horses, and Princess looks like she's trying to decide if she wants to take Dennet's arm off or go back to sleep. Killer and Beast, Bull and Meershaum's mounts, both look like they'd rather be anywhere but being saddled. Dorian shoos Dennet away and saddles Princess himself, cooing to her and feeding her scraps of meat as he does.

Meershaum swings into the saddle, Beast huffing in annoyance and shaking her massive head. She's a flashy looking thing for being a destrier, with palomino coloring and a mane kept in show knots. “We should be back within the month, and we'll send plenty of ravens. We won't be completely cut off from the world, you'll still be able to reach us.”

“Glad to hear it,” Thom says, patting Princess' neck as Dorian climbs onto her back. “Don't let this one give you too much trouble.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Meershaum laughs, and Bull grins.

“We'll keep him in line, I'm sure,” Bull drawls, and Dorian sniffs dramatically.

“You're all terrible,” he says dryly, and kisses Thom quickly before nudging Princess' sides and heading for the exit. Bull and Meershaum wave at him and follow, Cole bringing up the rear and riding like a sack of potatoes.

And then- they're gone.

Suddenly the world seems much colder and a good deal sadder, and Thom finds himself feeling very alone.

oOo

Dorian returns a month later looking not much worse for the wear, but obviously glad to be back.

“You have no idea how thrilled I am to see you,” he says without preamble as he walks into their loft and begins shucking his clothing off. “I never want to see a rainstorm ever again in my life, and if I see any mud that isn't in a spa in the next year it'll be too soon. I have missed you desperately and our bed even more.”

Thom, lounging in their new, elevated bed (complete with actual headboard), looks up from his book and raises his eyebrows. “That good, eh?”

“I may never get the corpse smell out. We drained an entire fucking lake to get to a Rift.” Dorian hangs his clothes on the hooks meant for cloaks so they can dry, shucks his boots off, and drags his shirt over his head. “A lake, Thom! I'm going to be doing laundry for weeks.” Bronze skin emerges to clarity as he loses the last of the clothing, and stalks stark naked to the bed to slip between the sheets. “I'm going to sleep for a week, _then_ do laundry, and then level a curse at the entirety of Crestwood so that no one ever has to go there again. We fought a fucking _dragon_. Bull has a fetish. If anyone comes looking for me, I'm in Rivain and not to be bothered. Good night.”

He drags the blankets over his head, and Thom bends to kiss the lump where his head is. “I missed you too, Dorian.”

Dorian makes a terribly cute squeaking noise, and pulls the blankets tight.

He sleeps for nearly twelve hours, and Thom's working on a better version of the collapsible table when he finally emerges from the loft wrapped in a blanket and wearing one of Thom's longest tunics and comfortable breeches. He looks an absolutely adorable mess, and Thom only just barely manages to keep from smiling at his flustered expression.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he says as Dorian flops into one of the lounging camp chairs and drapes an arm over his eyes. “Have a good nap?”

“I feel like a new man,” Dorian says without moving his arm. “How was your month?”

“Long,” Thom says honestly. “Made friends with Sera, did a lot of repair work, bullied Cullen into letting me fix his roof. He'd been sleeping in the open air.”

“What, in this weather?”

“I know.” Thom shakes his head. “He could at least set up a tent in the damn thing. Any anything Sera tells you about me dancing is a filthy lie.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Dorian says. He's smiling, though, which means he'll know the story by sunset. Thom smiles to himself and focuses on hammering a peg in. The sun is high in the sky, and Skyhold feels truly warm for once. Dorian basks in the sunshine as Thom works on the table. He's almost finished with it when Dorian abruptly says, “There's something we should talk about. Something that happened when I was gone, I mean.”

Thom raises an eyebrow as Dorian lets his arms fall out of their stretch. He looks serious- somber. “Alright?”

“I found myself... wondering.”

“Wondering?” Thom prompts, when Dorian goes silent.

“About Bull.”

Thom stops his work, turning his full attention onto Dorian. Dorian has his chin propped in his hand and looks thoughtful and a bit sad, biting at his lip. “Wondering about Bull. In what way?”

“In the, I wonder what it would be like to have them both in a non sexual and sexual sense, kind of way.” Dorian huffs out a sigh. “It's not uncommon in Tevinter to have a marital relationship and then a secondary, but not lesser relationship with another. I never assumed I'd want to have more than one person in my life, but I find myself wondering. He makes me laugh, and you make me feel safe. And he makes me feel safe, and you make me laugh. It's a strange thing. I don't quite know what's going on, but what I do know is that I don't want to lose _this_. What I have with you. So if you aren't comfortable with this line of thought, it ends here and now.”

It's laid out in bald, simple truth. Thom nods, picking up his mallet to tap more plugs of wood in. “Huh,” he says, for lack of anything else to say.

Dorian seems to have anticipated this, and sits back in his chair as Thom mulls the words around in his head.

It makes a kind of sense.

“I don't know how I feel about it,” he says honestly, and Dorian nods. “I'll think about it. I know I don't dislike it, though."

“That's all I can ask.” Dorian gets up from the chair and walks over to kiss his cheek. “You're so terribly good to me.”

“Someone has to be,” Thom says fondly, and presses a kiss to his temple.

oOo

Somehow, Dorian's father gets in touch, and Thom finds himself listening to Dorian fume and fuss as he throws gear together to make a very long trek down to Redcliffe.

“And honestly, who does he think he is? I'm thirty years old, hardly some bratty little child anymore- no, don't comment on that, I know I'm a brat sometimes but not a childish one- and I'm out here running around trying to, I don't know, perhaps keep the world from ending in some horrific fashion and he goes and ships a retainer from all the way North clear to Redcliffe! REDCLIFFE. Surely he can't have missed that I moved an entire country length north, why couldn't it be Val Royeaux. HONESTLY.” Dorian furiously buckles the latches of his bag. He whirls around to glare at Thom. “I love you more than words, you wonderful great lump of a man. Please come hug me.”

Thom shakes his head, walking over and wrapping Dorian tight in his arms. Dorian lets out a shaky breath, burying his face in Thom’s shoulder. 

“I can go with you,” Thom says softly. 

Dorian shakes his head, tightening his grip. “No. No, don’t you dare. I don’t want you pulled into his mess as well, I want you here, where it’s safe.” 

“Dorian-” 

“No, Thom,” Dorian insists, pulling back to look at him. His eyes are a little wild, but they’re set and determined. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s a dangerous man, and I won’t have you going near him. He’ll use any weakness he can find to pop open my shell like a lobster and fry my innards, and you are far too precious to me.” 

Thom kisses his forehead, and Dorian lets out a shuddering sigh. 

“Alright,” he says quietly, and Dorian’s shoulders relax a little. “Alright. Bull will be with you?” 

“Yes.” 

“And Meershaum and Cassandra.” 

“Yes.”

Thom hates it. But he nods anyway, and holds him just a little bit tighter. Dorian doesn’t seem like he’s in any great rush to let go either. But let go they must eventually do. Dorian gathers up his pack, taking a deep breath. 

"I hope you miss me terribly." 

Thom's voice catches a little as he takes Dorian's hand to pull him in close. "As if I could do anything else."

Thom watches him go from the top of the battlements, worry gnawing at his bones. Bull’s broad back and Dorian’s long, blade-ended staff are reassuring though, so he forces himself to calm and heads back to the barn to take his fears out on making camp chairs. 

They’re gone just two weeks, in the end. It might be the longest two weeks of Thom’s life.

Bull finds him in the barn, his face set. He’s dusty from riding, his boots covered in mud, and he looks absolutely grim.

“You need to go to Dorian,” he says, without any sort of hello, and Thom’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I didn’t even know you were back, I didn’t hear any commotion by the gate.” He stretches, setting aside his lathe and picking up his jerkin. Bull still doesn’t smile, and unease starts to sit heavy in his stomach. “When’d you get here?” 

“Half an hour past. Look, Blackwall… it’s not good. It was a set up.” 

Thom stiffens. “What?” 

Bull shakes his head, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “His father was there, not a retainer. They didn’t actually fight, but they said some strong words. Meershaum let them talk it out but we stayed real damn tight to the door, and Cole went invisible inside. He’s pretty shaken up by the whole thing, and I did the best I could but I’m not you.” 

“You’re near enough to it,” Thom says, pulling on his jerkin and fumbling with the straps. “I don’t think there’s anyone else he’d have been happier and safer with. Thank you, Bull, for being there for him. Can you take me to him?” 

“If he hasn’t up and vanished, he should still be in the tavern,” Bull says, and together they hike up the stairs to the Herald’s Rest. 

Dorian’s not hard to find. He’s collected a full bottle of wine from Cabot and secreted himself into a table in a far back corner, mouth set and unhappy as he drinks straight from the bottle. He doesn’t stand up as they approach, just looks away. 

“Come to collect me already?” 

"Is it wrong for me to miss my partner?" Thom counters, and Dorian's mouth wobbles. "You can take the bottle with you, but I want you in the barn with me and Bull. Allow me to be selfish and hold you."

Dorian sighs, nodding. "Fine. But only because you asked nicely. ...I'm not sure I can walk a straight line though. This wine is terrible. And strong. Ugh." 

Bull moves around Thom, easily levering him up. "Come on big guy, let's get you back."

Thom picks up the bottles and pays Cabot a bit more than necessary. Cabot frowns as he watches Bull and Dorian leave. 

"What's gone and happened to your boy over there?"

Thom's mouth twists. "His shit father." 

Cabot hisses, frown deepening. "No love lost there, I guess?"

"None at all." 

Cabot pulls another bottle out and pushes it to him. "No love lost between me and mine either. I might not like Vints, but yours is alright as far as they go, and I like you well enough. Don't let him do anything stupid." 

Thom tugs his forelock in quiet gratitude and heads out the door. 

Dorian and Bull are already in the bedroom when Thom climbs the stairs. Dorian's eyes are wet, his mouth a sharp line. Bull looks tired, more than anything. 

"So," Thom says, closing the door. "Bull gave me the abridged version. You don't have to tell me everything or anything if you don't want to."

"Maybe when I don't feel quite so much like a cracked vase held together with twine," Dorian quips before rubbing as his eyes and standing up. "I _hate this._ "

He stands up and stumbles over to hug Bull, mouth wobbling.

"Woah, hey, you're okay," Bull soothes.

“Next time,” Dorian says fiercely, letting go to wipe away the tears from his eyes. “Next time, I want you both there, both of my people. And Sera. I don’t want to go anywhere without you, and if that means staying here for a while, so be it.” 

Bull and Thom exchange looks over the top of his head. 

“For you,” Thom says, keeping his voice gentle, “I’d pick the sword back up. I’ll put on my armor again, stand right there by you and Bull and guard you both. I’ll go back out in the field with you, as long as Meershaum will have me.” 

Dorian’s lip wobbles, and he turns his face to bury it against Bull’s broad chest. “That’s… acceptable.” 

“Good.” 

Bull’s hand runs over Dorian’s hair, cradling his head for a moment as Dorian shifts to get comfortable. There’s such a look in his eye, written all of his face, the ache of longing. Thom more than recognizes it, he lives it. 

“Will you come, in the morning?” he asks, keeping his voice low for Dorian’s sake. “Or- Would you stay, tonight? I think he’ll be better if you’re here. I know I definitely will be. We’ve blankets plenty, and a spare mattress I can bring up.” 

For a spy, Bull’s face is very open. The lamplight catches the wash of surprise, hope, and pain all at once, and Thom swallows down words he doesn’t have the language for yet.

“Yeah,” Bull says at last. “I’ll stay.” 

It feels like a success, the start of something wordless and hopeful when Bull beds down between their bed and the door, massive and immovable. It’s all Thom can do not to join him on the floor to stay sheltered in the safety of those huge arms.

oOo

Thom keeps to his word, and regrets it almost immediately.

The Forbidden Oasis is, for lack of a better term, hot as balls. Meershaum is in her element, bare chested except for vitaar and having the time of her life tackling all the puzzles, inscriptions, convoluted messes, and general conquering as everyone trudges after her. The golden sands shiver and shift, but Meershaum just whoops and throws herself down them, getting sand everywhere as she runs around.

“She,” Thom says as they struggle up some ladders for the fifth time that day, “is entirely too energetic for this blasted heat.”

“Come now,” Dorian says brightly, hauling him up over the edge. “It's lovely weather.”

The look Thom gives him just makes Dorian cackle as he chases after Meershaum, kicking up golden sand as he runs. He's out of his usual robes and into a white set that leaves his arms bare, his robes short and covered in entirely too many belts. He looks ridiculous and yet altogether too good looking. 

Cassandra hefts herself over the ledge, shaking her head at the two. “Do they ever stop moving? This heat is tremendous, and yet they are running around like madmen.”

“Completely mad, the both of them,” Thom agrees, levering himself up. “I don’t know why I keep him around.” 

Cassandra smothers a smile as they follow the pair at a more sedate, reasonable pace. “Of course you do. You love him.” 

“Much to my confusion,” Thom sighs, but he smiles as Meershaum scoops Dorian up so they can chase after a shard on a rock. “Come on, let’s go get them before someone breaks something.”

It’s towards the end of the afternoon before Meershaum finally decides that they’re good to go back to camp, and Thom tries not to sigh with relief too loudly. Dorian looks with longing out to the desert, but he comes up obediently to walk with them. Thom takes his hand to make him flustered, and they walk back with their hands swinging together. Bull is waiting for them at the tents, a monocle carefully perched in his good eye as he writes out a report at the table and a few scouts snooze in the shade. 

“Did you have fun?” he calls as they walk up the little ridge.

“So much fun!” Meershaum cheers, shaking out her hair. “You should have come with!” 

“I’ll spell Cassandra when she wants,” Bull says, grinning up at her, and Thom joins him at the table as Dorian ducks into the tent. “How about you, big guy?” 

“Sand is the worst,” Thom tells him, and lets his head thump onto the table.

Sunlight trickles down through the great archway, the red and orange of the rocks lighting up as the water in the depths of the great hole reflects it back. A few hours after their return, Dorian bathes in the pool, skin gone even richer with the warm sunlight. Thom braces his chin in his hand, looking at him with unabashed appreciation as he stands under the waterfall and tips his head up.

Meershaum sits down next to him, glancing over at where he’s looking before grinning and pulling out a book from her enormous pockets. “You’re so sweet on him, it’s adorable.” 

“I really am,” Thom says, shaking his head. “Maker knows why, he’s such a brat sometimes.” 

Meershaum snickers, taking out a piece of charcoal. “You sure that’s not _why_ you like him? Because it sure looks that way to me. You and Bull both look at him like he’s the sun incarnate sometimes. Like if you blink he’ll up and disappear on you.”

Thom glances at her sidelong. “Ever think that might be what I’m afraid of? He’s a mage from a powerful family, all alone out here.” 

Giving him a sidelong glance, Meershaum smiles. It’s crooked and warm. “Not with you here, he’s not.” She opens up the little book and begins to sketch the general shapes of the weathered stones. “Or Bull.” 

Thom can’t think of anything to say to that. Instead, he watches the sun sink low on the sandstone, and memorizes the curves of Dorian’s shoulders.

oOo

And then the Qun comes calling.

It doesn’t take a genius to see how tense Bull and Meershaum are about the potential deal.The closer the days get to the time they’re set to leave to me the Qun contact, the wilder Bull gets. Thom spars against him in the yard, spelling out Krem when he grows tired of taking Bull’s unending drives. They don’t talk about it. They don’t need to.

It’s a cold comfort, but Dorian is sent with the away team again, Thom left behind once more. 

He’s growing very tired of walking the walls like a widow, waiting for a husband who’ll never come home. 

He’s growing very tired of being afraid.

Bull and Dorian come back with their faces grim and set three weeks to the day from when they left. The Chargers are quiet as they file in, Meershaum's expression grim and flat. Thom watches them from the upper walkway, frowning in concern as Dorian grabs Bull's arm to pull him into a hug. Bull stays stiff for a moment before he melts into it, lowering his face to hide it in Dorian's hair. They both seem shaken, a little fragile. They stand together for quite some time before Bull finally pulls away, shaking out his shoulders and walking up to the upper level and into the tavern. Dorian watches him go, his mouth twisted, and turns to head to the barn. 

Thom joins him there, finding him pacing near the stalls and his things in a heap on the ground. Silently, he picks up a lathe and a piece of wood to work on, and sets to it. The movement is grounding and rhythmic, and Dorian eventually drifts back to stand near him to watch. 

“Is everything alright?” Thom asks when the moment has calmed a little.

Dorian grimaces. “Just peachy. Bull's been thrown from the Qun because he wouldn't sacrifice the Chargers.”

“What?” Thom jerks, the lathe stopping sharp in the wood. “Is he alright?” 

“I mean, no,” Dorian says, running a hand through his hair. “He’s very much not alright, his whole identity is in shambles, a dreadnaught sank, and there’s red lyrium on its way to Minrathous. The whole affair was an absolute shitshow, everything that could go wrong did. And now he’s beating himself up over it and I, personally, haven’t the faintest idea how to comfort him.” 

Thom sits down at the table, mind whirring. “Maker.” 

“That about sums it up, yes.” Dorian sits down next to him, resting his head on Thom’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to do.” 

Thom takes his hand, squeezing it. “What do you _want_ to do?”

Dorian sighs. “I want… I want to just fix everything for him. Make all the hurt and pain go away. I know I can’t, I know I can only help, but still.” 

Thom nods, turning to kiss Dorian’s temple and squeezing his hand again in reassurance. “We’ll find a way to help him. Even if it’s just being there and being his friend, we’ll do it. Alright?”

“Yes, yes.”

"I'll beg some food off of cook, you get that nice bottle of Chateaux d'Lieuxmont out of the basket." Thom smiles as Dorian splutters. "Yes, I know you were saving it, but he'll appreciate it. He likes the finer things, our Bull, even if he puts up a good front."

"Oh, very well."

It's not hard to find The Iron Bull. He's not on the training ground or in the Herald's Rest, but Cole points them up the stairs towards his room. 

"You can help," he says, and disappears off to go help bunnies, or whatever it is he does. Thom might not understand the kid, but he appreciates the drive to help. The refugee kids love him to pieces. 

Dorian takes the initiative to rap smartly on Bull's door, the knocks sharp. "Bull, we know you're in there. Open up, we're here to provide comfort whether you like it or not!"

There's a long pause, but the door opens. Bull sighs at the sight of them. 

"Now what?"

Thom holds up the basket he's carrying. "Expensive wine, good spiced cheese, a couple loaves of bread, and a brick of chocolate I begged off of Lady Montilyet."

Bull groans. "You know how to bribe me."

"We most certainly do." Dorian waves a flippant hand. "Let us in, you fiend, we brought cards as well. I can't imagine you'll be up for much sleeping tonight, but if you are, we'll be there for you then too."

Bull steps aside, and lets them in. 

The wine is very good, the cheeses and chocolate delicious. Bull and Dorian needle each other over the cards, and it's well into the early hours of the morning and several rounds of increasingly complicated card games when Bull finally yawns.

Dorian pounces on this show of weakness like a jungle cat. "Time for bed! Let's get ready."

"I can't make you stay-"

"You can't make us do anything," Thom says, standing up. "We said we'd spend the night, we're spending the night. All the better for us to beat your fears with. We'll be fine against your nightmares."

Bull glances up at them, his smile wry. “You think so? I’ve got plenty of nasty shit in my head.” 

Dorian snorts, pulling off his coat and sitting primly on the bed. “What, and you think we don’t? Honestly, Bull, it’s as if you don’t know us at all. You know full well that we both have our struggles, and here we are regardless. We care about you, you great oaf, so kindly don’t tell me or him how to feel about it. We- care for you.” 

Thom chuckles, pulling off his boots. “That’s one way to put it. We love you.” 

Bull blinks rapidly, looking away. Thom kindly doesn’t mention how wet his eye looks. “That’s a little extreme.” 

“No,” Thom says, climbing up onto the bed as well. “Just honest. Hurry up and lay down, we all need a good night’s rest if we’re going to be running off to go deal with Orlesians this next week.” 

Dorian shudders, nose wrinkling. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Meershaum is a brave soul. A brave, somewhat annoying soul.”

“You love her.”

“Unfortunately.” 

That gets a huff of a laugh out of Bull’s chest, and they all bed down together with Bull in the center, warm and comfortable. Dorian and Thom lace their hands together over his chest, Dorian burrowed in the crook of Bull’s arm. 

“We do,” Thom says softly over Dorian's wheezing snores. “Love you, I mean.”

Bull's quiet for a long moment before muttering, “you shouldn't.”

Thom shrugs. “Hearts want what they want, and we are but fools tugged along after them. Sleep, Bull. We'll still be here in the morning.”

They are indeed still there in the morning. Thom wakes up before Dorian, unsurprised that he’s somehow managed to sprawl his entire body over Bull and get his hair in Thom’s mouth. Bull’s heartbeat is strong beneath him, and he looks up to see Bull looking down at him, something thoughtful in his eyes. 

It’s something, a moment teetering on the edge of something else, and Thom leans back into Bull’s arms to rest as warmth blooms in his chest.

oOo

Halamshiral seems to glow as they approach it only a few months later, and Bull grumbles as he tugs at his coat and sash in the carriage. It’s a tight fit for all of them, squeezing in Bull, Meershaum, Thom, and Dorian, and Thom’s seriously considering climbing out to run alongside the carriage.

“I hate these things,” he says, grimacing. “Getting up and dancing like a trained bear for nobles to gawk at. It’s good for information gathering, but the rest is just crap.” 

Dorian reaches over to fuss with his collar, smoothing it out. “Oh, hush, you child. It’s not so bad. There’ll be food, at least, and I know that you’ll be more than a little interested in that bit. Maybe if we’re lucky they’ll have brought shrimp. Though, granted, knowing Orlesian’s, that might be a fool’s hope.” 

“What I wouldn’t give for some hot, spicy curry right now,” Bull groans, leaning back in his seat. Meershaum rolls her eyes, looking out the window. She and Thom share identical, commiserating glances as their two Northern compatriots begin enthusiastically bickering about what kinds of curry was best, Dorian gesticulating wildly as Bull smacks his palm to emphasize his point. 

They meet up with Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen at the doors, the Duke of Ghislain smiling slightly at them before stepping inside. Duke Gaspard de Chalons introduces them, Thom stepping carefully and maintaining his perfect poise as he’s introduced as Dorian’s paramour and a master craftsman. They scatter once inside, each of them going to their appointed locations to linger and mingle as best they can while Meershaum schmoozes with the Empress and handles all the frustrating little fine details. 

The evening is, for the most part, boring. He has a good few glasses of wine, eats about half his weight in canapes, and listens in on conversations. Sometimes he’s asked to dance and does some whirling around the room, but otherwise he’s stuck in place while Meershaum darts back and forth to save the day. Finally, with everything sorted, Meershaum comes to him and claps a hand on his shoulder. 

“Thank fuck that’s all done. I let Dorian and Bull know they’re good to relax a little- and yep, there they are.” 

The pair walk out onto the dance floor, Dorian looking absolutely tiny against Bull’s huge bulk, and begin the smoothest waltz that Thom’s ever seen. He smiles, even as his heart lurches a little. They make for a beautiful pair. But waltzing with three isn’t exactly a possibility. 

Meershaum nudges him with her shoulder. “Hey, why the long face?” 

He shakes his head to clear it, stealing another glass of wine from a passing waiter. “Just… just thinking about what I want and whether or not I get to have it.” 

Meershaum grins at him, sharp teeth flashing. “You’re so dramatic. C’mon Thom. you think you’re the only person in the world with wants they squish down? Let that shit out and go wild, it’s good for you.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” 

Meershaum smirks. “Sure am. I have a husband, you know.” 

Thom jerks, staring at her. “What?”

“Sure.” She shrugs lazily, picking at her teeth. “Hauma’s his name. We got married when we were 18, we see each other maybe six months a year. I love him and miss him like crazy when we’re apart, but we’re not stupid enough to be monogamous about it.” 

“...Does Josephine know that?” 

“Oh yeah,” Meershaum drawls, winking at him. “You fuckin bet she does. They’ve been writing each other for months now, I think she likes him more than me. He’s a charmer like that, the little shit.” 

“Huh.” Thom looks back into the ballroom, watching Dorian and Bull swirl elegantly across the dance floor. “They’re a good pair, aren’t they.”

“Sure are. But they’re better with you.” Meershaum claps a hand on his shoulder. “Go get ‘em, hot stuff. Bull’s fucking fabulous in bed, you’re gonna love it.” 

Thom splutters, face going red, and Meershaum just cackles as she sashays away, presumably to go get Josephine to dance. Thom leans against the wall, watching as his partner and his… something come to the end of their dance, lingering on the dance floor together. They’re a beautiful pair, and Dorian’s eyes are soft as he smiles up at Bull, head tipped back to see him properly. 

Yeah. Thom nods. Meershaum is right. They’ve spent more than enough time avoiding the subject. He strolls over to them, smiling when they turn to him. “You dance great together.” 

“Thank you!” Dorian says brightly. HIs hair is still perfectly in place, eye makeup making his eyes gleam. He’s beautiful as ever, even in the ridiculous red, same as Bull. Thom glances up at Bull, and steels his nerves.

“So,” Thom says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We have something to talk about.” 

“We do?” Bull asks, looking between them. Dorian grimaces, brushing down his coat. 

“Yes,” he says reluctantly, “I suppose we do. Ugh. Do we have to do this now?”

Thom nods, and leads them both out onto the balcony. It’s blissfully deserted for once, and the climbing roses are trying their best to trellis up and steal bricks from the wall. Thom rubs his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants, trying to work up his nerve. Dorian just downs his entire wine glass and puts his hands on his hips as Bull leans on the balcony, looking very amused by the whole affair.

“So,” Thom starts, awkward. “We uh… We like you.” 

“Lots of people like me,” Bull says, grinning. “I’m a likable guy.” 

“Oh, you know what we mean,” Dorian says testily. He stalks around facing the wall to announce, “We want you.” 

Bull considers him, a little more serious. “You sure? You really, really sure? Because we can cut this off later, but once emotions get involved it’s going to be a rough go.”

“I don't know!” Dorian says, swinging around to stare at the pair of them. “I really don't! Who's to say if this is right or wrong, and more to the point, who cares? I want to have you both in my arms for all my days, damn the consequences if it doesn’t work later on. Now is the important time! Bull may be inclined to do the forbidden but I am very much inclined to do what makes me happy, and that is you two ridiculous men!”

Bull grins, leaning against the balcony railing. “That so?”

“It very much is, thank you,” Dorian sniffs. “I don't give a damn what you think about it, too.”

Thom laughs, shaking his head as he leans against the railing next to Bull. “Well, alright then. You spoiled little thing, not content for one or the other.” 

“Well,” Dorian huffs, flustered, “why settle when I could have both? I’m not one for giving up things that I enjoy, as you very well know, Thom Blackwall. And Bull, don’t think I can’t see you grinning like some sort of lunatic over there. What do you think? We’ve been beating about the bush for far too long, and I for one am tired of it. The Iron Bull, would you care to join us as a third, and equal partner in whatever we might call this relationship?”

Thom’s heart jumps to his throat as he looks over at Bull, who looks between the pair of them with a terribly soft, tender smile. 

“You two are a whole lot of ridiculous,” Bull says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling. “Yeah. I can’t say I’d mind spending the rest of my life with you two.”

Thom lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as Dorian moves so fast it seems like he’s fade stepping to throw his arms around Bull’s neck and stand on his tip-toes to kiss him. Bull makes a faint noise of surprise before his hands fall to Dorian’s hips, holding him steady to kiss him. 

“There,” Dorian says as he pulls back, looking very pleased with himself. “Was that so hard?”

Thom laughs, reaching over to grab him by a belt and pull him back so he can kiss Bull as well. It’s a sweet thing, soft and warm, and his heart flutters in his ribcage. Bull gently, so gently, strokes through his hair and when he steps back, they’re both smiling. 

Dorian claps his hands together, businesslike. “Right, well, that’s that sorted out. Thom, Bull, my dears, let’s go make sure Meershaum hasn’t done something terribly stupid, like run off to go have a fight without us. I can practically guarantee that she has, because I know her entirely too well, but I suppose I can dream.”

“It’s definitely a dream,” Bull chuckles, and together they walk back into the ball.

Later, when Dorian is lounging in their bed and Thom is hanging his things in the wardrobe, a knock comes on the door. They exchange glances, and Thom goes to the door with a slim bladed knife in hand, flames resting in Dorian's hand. Opening the door just reveals Bull, though, and they both relax. 

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, grinning at them as Dorian vanishes the fire. 

“Not at all.” Thom steps aside, bowing him in with a dramatic arm twirl. Bull laughs, strolling in to sit on the bed by Dorian, who sits up and tucks his legs under himself, cross-legged. Thom joins them.

“So,” Bull says, looking between them. “Obviously we're going to need to talk, set down ground rules, all of that, but before that… you're still both sure you want this?”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “If by this you mean yourself, you ridiculous hulk of a man, yes. I think j we can both safely say we'd be the poorer for not having you in our lives. Not the least of which being that I'm willing to bet the sex is going to be phenomenal.”

Thom groans as Bull laughs. “Must you, Dorian?”

“Yes, I absolutely must.”

“Brat,” Thom says, kissing him. 

“It’s been said,” Dorian agrees mildly, and laughs when Thom shoves him over into Bull’s lap. Bull wraps his arms around him, laughing, and Thom leans up to kiss him. 

All, he thinks, is well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
